Everything You Never Wanted
by Caffeine Productions
Summary: The only thing that shows a deeper side of a person than a journal is his mind: his deepest thoughts, fears, and the control wrought both by longing... and the town of Silent Hill...


**DISCLAIMER:** _Silent Hill_ and all related titles, characters, and elements belong to Konami Computer Entertainment Tokyo.

**EVERYTHING YOU NEVER WANTED** by Caffeine Productions  
**CHAPTER ONE: From Inside The Church**

Like unnatural veins spreading through skin with a mind of their own, slowly taking over, the Darkness penetrated the church. A sharp, blinding headache signaled the beginning; when I was again able to look up, the Sunday-morning crowd had transformed into the deformed creatures of the haunted resort town, Silent Hill.

It was "Darkness" with a capital "D"—this wasn't just a simple lack of light. This was the town itself taking over, always following its victims until they either go insane or meet their death. (If a person is lucky enough, he'll get both. Maybe he's less likely to feel pain that way.) I'd had nightmares before it happened, dark ones. There was always a ton of blood—the blood of millions. I saw monsters like these, too, taking hold on the church that the citizens had once seen as a sanctuary. All of it was in the journal that I kept hidden. Hidden… at least until Silent Hill wrought its power over that as well as me. (All of it as frightening as it is inevitable.)

Also… there had always been a girl in these dreams. I never saw her face, never heard her name, but I understood that she was the same person each time. I wait for that day when I've met this sure-to-be-savior of mine—

The nearest creature seemed to have discovered my hiding place back in the corner. I thought that the pillars would keep me hidden in shadow, but the thing was staring directly at me. (They _thrived_ on shadows, how could I forget…?) It didn't have eyes. I wasn't even sure that it had a face. Those jerky movements, like a bad flow of electricity barely keeping a device fueled, had slowed a little; for a reason I didn't know, I believed that it meant that its attention had been preoccupied by something it… saw?—smelled?—heard? No, its senses didn't matter—it knew where I was, and it was moving ever closer with twitchy stumbles. I could only accurately relate it to watching an old film, spastic in quality.

There was nowhere to go. If one had found me, they'd all know where I was in a moment.

Then, it started to grow thicker around me—the blood, the decay, each seemingly with a mind of its own. Sirens began to sound from nowhere and everywhere at once, reverberating in my head, drumming into what remained of my headache. I had a flashing memory of the whistle that would signal the curfew back home, before the place became a vacation spot. Remaining light faded with the momentary view of my past.

With no other options, no other chance to alert help, I screamed. It was a man's voice turned childish by fear.

---------------------

"_Stanley!"_

The priest yelled over the blare of the approaching siren; an ambulance, he was sure. He didn't bother wondering who had kept the presence of mind well enough to call the hospital; all that mattered at this point was getting Stanley help _immediately_.

This had been happening with him often over the last few months. Usually, he'd fall asleep during a sermon or a hymn and, by the looks of it, have a nightmare. Simple enough. Problem was, he only seemed to be getting worse; he had been wide awake this time, staring intently at the priest, occasionally looking around nervously at his fellow church-goers as if they were ghosts. If that wasn't enough, this _grown man_ was sitting there clutching at what appeared to be a homemade _doll_, the hair made dark and the clothing a fancily-styled pink dress.

Everyone was well aware of him when he got up to sit in the corner, shuddering and shivering like he'd been left in a winter snowstorm without a coat, still clutching the creepy doll. The priest, Father Flint, had done his best to ignore him, but the screams were impossible to handle.

What's worse, he wasn't calming down this time. Father Flint had no doubt left that Stanley Coleman had finally lost what little remained of his mind.

Sadly, the priest shook his head, watching as Stanley was sedated (with some trouble) by the doctors. Many of the others shared his glum expression. Still, he had to admit that he felt relieved to know that they would no longer have to fear harm from this man's insanity.

Little did he know that Stanley's admission into Brookhaven Hospital was only the beginning…


End file.
